


Good Company

by manic_intent



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, That modern AU where Arthur was in prison, and John meets him as he's released
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: The midday heat was starting to crumple the air above the windless carpark by the time the man John was looking for loped out of the gate. The massive prison complex loomed just beyond, blocks of concrete surveyed by white towers, all of it ringed by thick wire fences.“John,” Arthur said as he ambled close. He’d shaved recently, his hair grown stringy under his wide-brimmed hat. Arthur had gotten bigger in prison, bulkier. Muscle stretched the old blue flannel shirt he liked, the rolled-up sleeves straining over huge biceps.John tried not to stare. “Arthur. Need a ride?”





	Good Company

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for Parker, who asked for a John/Arthur RDR2 Modern AU.
> 
> One of my favourite Western films ever is actually a modern Western, Hell or High Water:
>
>> "They took everything from your family, and this is your chance to take it back.” [#HOHWMovie](https://twitter.com/hashtag/HOHWMovie?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)<https://t.co/70oxHMlBtj>
>> 
>> — Hell or High Water (@HoHWmovie) [June 30, 2016](https://twitter.com/HoHWmovie/status/748554808425013248?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)
> 
> So… something around that kind of mood. 

The midday heat was starting to crumple the air above the windless carpark by the time the man John was looking for loped out of the gate. The massive prison complex loomed just beyond, blocks of concrete surveyed by white towers, all of it ringed by thick wire fences.

“John,” Arthur said as he ambled close. He’d shaved recently, his hair grown stringy under his wide-brimmed hat. Arthur had gotten bigger in prison, bulkier. Muscle stretched the old blue flannel shirt he liked, the rolled-up sleeves straining over huge biceps. 

John tried not to stare. “Arthur. Need a ride?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur reached for the driver’s seat and scowled as John didn’t budge from the black Mustang. “Move your ass.” 

“You even remember how to drive?” John asked, smirking. 

“This here’s my car. I remember. Move.” 

John laughed. He looped around to the passenger seat and slouched in even as Arthur sat at the wheel. Arthur breathed in, running his thumbs lovingly over the wooden steering wheel and looking around the car. It started up with a growl and purred into acceleration as Arthur spun them out of the car park, hungry for the road. 

“She looks good,” Arthur said, once they’d left the prison behind. “Great job.”

“Least I could do.” John cranked up the air conditioning and automatically reached for the radio. Arthur grimaced as the tail end of a pop song came on and turned it off. “You could change the station,” John said. 

“I’d rather talk. How are the others doing?” 

John grimaced. He’d been hoping to put this off until they were further away. Back in town, maybe, after Arthur had a drink. The open road always made Arthur unpredictable, a metronome that swung just as easily toward violence as mischief. “Fine, for the most part. The Reverend’s got his own parish now. Somewhere near Boston. Mary-Beth’s written a few books. Sold pretty well—she’s thinking of maybe quitting her day job. Abigail and Pearson are in business together—”

“Micah?” Arthur cut in. 

“Turned state evidence.” The trial had been hard to watch. Arthur staring from the dock, expressionless as Micah had swaggered up to the stand and lied and lied. Pinning the botched bank robbery squarely on Arthur’s shoulders.

“I knows what he did,” Arthur growled, “I was there, remember? It was fucking hard to miss. I’m asking you where he is.” 

“I meant, he’s in witness protection. I don’t know where he is,” John said. He’d thought about looking for Micah now and then over the years. Figure out where he’d made another life. Man couldn’t stay in witness protection forever—it wasn’t a life that Micah could tolerate for long. John would’ve just had to be patient, if he'd been willing to go down that road. 

“You even look?” 

“Abigail told me to let it go,” John said. Arthur let out a harsh laugh. “And you should too. You wanna waste Tilly’s efforts? All those appeals she wrung through the courts? You know you’re out real early for what went down.” 

Arthur shot him an even glance. “I know I took the fall so the rest of you could walk.” 

John flushed. “I… Arthur, I didn’t mean—”

“And I don’t regret that. Hosea and Lenny dying… we’d lost enough. I’m glad the rest of you could make something of your lives. Really, truly glad. But I’ve had a long time to think about what I wanted to do to Micah. Day after day in a hell hole of a private prison crowded to the gills full’a people, crawling with rats and gangs and guards who didn’t give a shit if someone got shanked in the showers. ‘Long as they got paid for turning up to work.” Arthur’s hands clenched tight over the wheel. “Dutch?” 

“You didn’t hear? He’s uh. He’s a senator.” 

The car lurched briefly as Arthur stared at John in surprise. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope.” John sank into his seat. Thinking about it still made him depressed some days. “Turns out that being psychopathic but charming is all you need to get into politics nowadays.” 

“A _senator_.” 

John lifted a shoulder into a light shrug. “He was running against Ted Cruz, who’s also a psychopath but with zero charm, so I guess Dutch kinda had an advantage.” 

“Ran as a Republican?” 

“Independent. Lives in Washington now. Guess he realized it was easier to just think big if you wanted to rob and steal from people,” John said. 

“A senator. Hell.” Arthur shook his head slowly. “Javier?”

“Went south. Haven’t heard of him since. Bill’s dead. He got himself shot trying to stick up a 7-11. Some passer-by gunned him down.” 

“Served him right. Charles?”

“Not sure. Last I saw of him, he went off to join the Standing Rock thing. Pipeline protests. Didn’t work. Don’t know if he gave up or where he is now.” They talked about the lives of others as Arthur drove, hours and hours until the sun started to drop in the sky. Arthur rolled into a small and dusty town, its main street lined with foreclosed businesses and empty storefronts papered with ‘For Lease’ signs. Dead-eyed people watched them indifferently from chairs propped close to the street. There was a gas station, a motel, and a diner crowded into the ass end of town, none of them inviting. 

John paid for the tank to be filled back up and paid for dinner. The burger was greasy and the chips were way too salty, but Arthur ate like he was starving. Not that Arthur had ever much cared about how his food was served as long as it wasn’t moving. John bought a six-pack of beers from the gas station and bought a room at the motel. They took turns using the tiny bathroom, and when John walked out, towelling his hair, Arthur was flicking through the news on the old TV. 

“Worse than I thought,” Arthur said. 

“Yeah, well. While you were locked up, the country kinda lost its shit.” John sat down on one of the beds, palming his iPhone from his pocket to check his emails. 

Arthur glanced at it, then up at John. “You didn’t tell me what you were up to,” Arthur said. 

“I work on an oil rig. West Texas. Money’s good,” John said. He felt bad about it now and then, working in the heat, breathing in the stink of warm metal and oil. He didn’t much like his job and he liked the idea of it less, but money was money, and it paid better than life had been under Dutch and his schemes. 

Arthur let out a snort. “You? Working rigs? The hell you managed that?”

“They needed people, weren’t fussy. I lived light and saved up.” John waited, but Arthur kept flicking through TV channels. “I could put in a word for you.” 

“They’d take an ex-con?” 

“They might. Boss ain’t a bad sort.” 

Arthur tossed John a can of beer and picked one up for himself, propping his shoulders against the headboard. He tipped back the can in hard gulps. “Nice to see you moved on,” Arthur said. 

“The hell else was I supposed to do? I was barely more than a kid.” John had been 19 when the trial had started. Old enough to be sent to adult prison. He’d been lucky that Arthur had taken the fall for all of them. Lucky—and guilty. Especially since the person who should’ve felt the least guilty of the lot of them had been the one to get Arthur out. Fighting Arthur’s case had been the only reason Tilly had gone to law school. All John could do was try to help out with her college debts. “You should talk to Tilly,” John said. 

“What happened to the money?” Arthur asked, ignoring his statement. 

“I’m guessing all the money that helped give Dutch a fighting chance against a sitting Senator had to come from somewhere.”

“Shit.” Arthur tossed the empty can aside and picked up another one. He held it to his temple instead of opening it up, breathing through gritted teeth. 

“I missed you,” John said softly. 

Arthur didn’t look at him. “Funny how the only person who tended to visit was Tilly. My self-appointed lawyer.” 

“Arthur… c’mon, Arthur. I work halfway across the state. I—”

“I get it,” Arthur said curtly. He opened the can and drank.

#

In the morning, Arthur’s bed was empty. John swore and stumbled out of the room, only to nearly run headlong into Arthur, who was holding a takeaway cup of coffee. Arthur sidestepped and fielded John with a grunt. Arthur’s easy strength felt like it’d been amplified by prison. John’s mouth grew dry as Arthur pulled him back into the room like he weighed nothing.

“Where’d you think you were going?” Arthur asked. He looked amused, with little of the bitterness from last night. 

“Thought you were gone,” John said, rubbing his eyes. 

Arthur’s smile faded. “Where would I go?” He took a sip of coffee and settled down by the cheap table near the windows, crossing his long legs on the bed. “I’ve talked to Tilly.” He nodded at the yellowing phone by the bed. “She said she was gonna pick me up but you volunteered.” 

“I had your car,” John said. 

“Didn’t think you’d keep it, let alone go to all the trouble to maintain it.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? You love that car.” It was enough to make John jealous sometimes, irrational as that was. 

“It doesn’t feel real. The car. Being out. You,” Arthur said. He looked contemplative. The room still held the lingering smell of beer. Judging from the bin, Arthur had drunk the lot when John had slept. He didn’t look hungover though. 

“Me?” John asked, puzzled. 

Arthur made a vague gesture in John’s direction. “Grown all up. You were still a skinny kid the last I saw you. Didn’t recognise you at first. Even with those scars and my car. You look good.” 

“Thanks?” John wished it wasn’t so obvious that he was basking in the scant compliment. The boyish infatuation he’d felt for Arthur hadn’t gone away with time. It’d just gotten worse. “You uh. You look great.” 

“Nothing much else to do in prison but work out,” Arthur said, with a dismissive shrug. “Where to now?” 

“You were the one driving,” John said. 

“And I’m still gonna be the one driving today, but are we gonna be heading somewhere or what?” 

“I’m thinking Austin. Tilly’s there. You guys should catch up.” 

Arthur frowned at him. “You seem real interested in me and Tilly.” 

“She got you out,” John said, surprised at Arthur’s defensiveness. “The rest of us didn’t do much. Didn’t know what to do.”

“Could’ve looked for Micah,” Arthur said. 

John drew himself up. “Tilly spent _years_ getting you out of prison. If you were to dig Micah up, drive on over and shoot him in the head? Even if the cops didn’t kill you, you’d be thrown back in jail. Forever.” 

“If I get caught.” 

“Who the fuck else would they suspect? Please tell me you ain’t serious,” John said. When Arthur didn’t reply, John sat on the bed close to Arthur, clasping his hands over his knees. “You serious?” 

“Why, you gonna snitch on me?” Arthur glowered at him. The bitterness was still there—Arthur had just hidden it better. “Like Micah?”

“Jesus, Arthur, no—”

“Then why the hell do you care?” Arthur snarled. 

It had never been in John’s nature to take a hiding lying down. Not when it’d come from his parents. Not even from Dutch. He bared his teeth. “Why shouldn’t I care? When you’re haring to go down this road? Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur. Listen to yourself. You’ve finally got a second chance at life and I’d be damned if I watch you piss it away on Micah- _fucking_ -Bell!”

They both flinched as someone thumped the wall from the room beside them and shouted something about shutting up. “It’s already nine in the goddamned morning, suck it up, asshole!” Arthur yelled back. Whoever it was went angrily quiet. The interruption had thankfully drained Arthur of his temper. He slumped into his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. “You’re right,” Arthur said, in a softer voice. “Hell, you’re right.” 

John nodded slowly. “At the start, I wanted to do the same thing. Look for Micah. Put a bullet in his head. Nearly did go down that road myself.”

“Yeah?” 

“Abigail found out and kicked my ass. Then she told Tilly and both of them ganged up on me. They said Micah wasn’t important. Not as important as finding a way to get you back.” John gingerly patted Arthur on the knee. “So. Welcome back.” 

“Thanks,” Arthur said. He leaned in, pressing a palm over John’s. “For the car, for coming to get me.” 

Arthur’s mouth was so close. John tried not to stare. Tried to jerk back and smile and say something pithy about how Arthur was worth it, about how Tilly had been the one who did most of the work. He didn’t move, his breath frozen in his throat. Arthur let out a low, hoarse chuckle. He pushed closer. The kiss was tentative at first, until John moaned. Growling, Arthur clenched his hands into John’s shirt and hauled them both onto the bed. He pinned John to the bed and tucked his fingers into John’s hair as they kissed. Deeper, slower. John skipped his fingertips over Arthur’s cheeks, over his deliciously broad shoulders. This was so much of everything John had ever wanted that now that he had it, he couldn’t quite believe it. 

“Wow,” John said as Arthur leaned up on his elbows for air. “What brought that on?”

Arthur gave him an odd look. “Sad to see you’re still an idiot, Marston.” He flicked John’s nose and got off, sitting on the side of the bed. “You due back at work?”

“I took some time off.” John sat up. “What d’you mean, I’m an idiot?” 

Arthur shook his head. “You said Tilly’s in Austin, yeah? Give her a call, let her know we’re coming.” He started to get up from the bed, hesitating when John grabbed his arm. “What?” 

“I asked you a question,” John said. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and brushed a kiss over John’s mouth. “Thought it was obvious. I missed you too, jackass. Now git. Austin’s a long drive from here and I wanna get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> Refs:  
> https://www.texasmonthly.com/articles/permian-basin-booming-oil-cost-west-texans/  
> https://www.sacurrent.com/the-daily/archives/2016/12/12/south-texas-prison-riot-blamed-on-for-profit-prison-companys-abysmal-mismanagement
> 
> twitter: @manic_intent  
> about my writing etc: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> 


End file.
